Where do I begin, how do I start, words so unfamiliar, they cannot speak yet stir my heart. This is not a poem, for I am no poet. This is not a song, for I do not sing, alas to this little hope I desperately cling. Should I shun it or should I chase uncertainty, it offers no grace. Stranded, I die a deathless death, suspending past and future, within a single breath. I need no gold, not even a dime, this boatman, my wave, is crashing on the distant shore of time.